


just fumbling through the grey

by babybirdblues



Series: you'll find it in me [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, and have them be cute darlings, because I wanted to write one, diner au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:16:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybirdblues/pseuds/babybirdblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(He’d probably end up dead in a ditch somewhere and the only reason anyone would notice is when his landlord broke down the door to collect rent.  He wouldn’t be there of course, being dead in a ditch somewhere.  Probably having been eaten by small woodland creatures or a bear.  Probably a bear.  But he wouldn’t say no to a squirrel, rabid creatures that they are.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	just fumbling through the grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryssabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/gifts).



Night shifts are generally boring.  It’s something that Grantaire’s gotten used to in the last few months - mostly because out here in the middle of bush and farmland is boring as hell.  Even in the daytime.  Hell, he’s lucky if the truckers even want to stop in.

Russel’s Diner isn’t the most popular diner around.  Too far out of town - a good twenty minute drive, following the speed limit that is - with no neighbours around if your car dies on you.  Not a lot of people are willing to take that risk.  You can get lost in the bush if you try to take a shortcut and if you have to walk all the way back to town, well it’s a long-ass way. 

Grantaire rides his bike (actual bicycle) right now, summer and all that.  It’s a bit of a pain in the ass.  But once winter hits he’ll pull out his old Ford Mustang.  (Only good thing his dad ever left him.)  No way is he riding his bike the forty-five minutes to this shitty old diner in the snow.  Even less of a chance of him walking.

(He’d probably end up dead in a ditch somewhere and the only reason anyone would notice is when his landlord broke down the door to collect rent.  He wouldn’t be there of course, being _dead_ in a ditch somewhere.  Probably having been eaten by small woodland creatures or a bear.  Probably a bear.  But he wouldn’t say no to a squirrel, rabid creatures that they are.)

The dark’s part of the problem too.

Not that it’s a problem, so much as Margie - the owner and his _loving_ boss - has threatened him bodily harm if he walks in for his night shifts at any time of the year.  He’s not one of her girls but he’s hers.  It’s sort of nice.  Sort of, take away the possession aspect because he works for her and it’s even nicer.  Still she wouldn’t notice if he disappeared other than to curse him for leaving her short a nightshift.

The radio crackles out a bunch a static that makes Grantaire’s ears hurt.  It’s a shame he’s only allowed three beers on the nights he’s working.  The night would pass so much quicker - and it’s not like he can’t function completely smashed out of his mind.  (He’s tested the theory before and the fire department _didn’t_ have to be called by the end of the night.  His dinner was edible; he even remembered to turn off the stove.)

Instead he’s forced to sit behind the counter watching the lights of the open sign flicker on and off.  Sometimes the screens and glass panes in the windows look like bars in a cage.  (Sometimes he feels like a bird in a cage.)  On the bad nights he feels like breaking the windows and it’s only through liberal amounts of musical numbers and lots of cleaning that he succeeds in not.

Tonight is one of those nights.  He’s just belting out the last lines to _Aquarius_ when the bell above the door chimes.  He would say he’s embarrassed to be caught swinging his hips outrageously and singing into a broom handle, but truthfully this isn’t the worst thing he’s been caught doing.  Though the customers generally aren’t as shocked when they walk in.  Well, it’s normally the regular truckers that come in at this time of night.  They just sort of shake their head at Grantaire and order.

This customer though, he stares at Grantaire with wide eyes.  His eyebrows would probably be raised into his hairline - but either by choice or unfortunate happenstance has made the man bald.  It’s a good look on him though, very fetching.  The black eye is unfortunate.  After a bit Grantaire might share a few tips to get the swelling down.  But for now he’ll put on his most charming smile and try to sell some of the crappy coffee and some of the - better - food they serve here.

“ _Hello_ handsome, what can I get for you?”

The man blinks, even more startled.  “What?  _Me_?”

Grantaire’s shoulders shake with his laughter.  “See anyone else here besides you and I hot stuff?”

He gets a tentative smile in return.  ”No I don’t suppose I do.  My name’s Bossuet by the way.”  He pauses as if debating something.  “I don’t suppose you have a phone I can use do you?  My car got stolen and my cell battery is dead.”

Oh, now Grantaire feels sorry for the guy.  “Pull up a chair my good fellow.  I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee and see if the shitty phone is working.  If not I’ll let you get a ride back into town on the back of my bike when my shift is over.  It won’t be comfortable but it’s quicker than walking.  How does that sound?”

Bossuet gives him a genuine smile as he gingerly sits down.  “That sounds fantastic.  What should I call you?”

"Grantaire’s my name, but most call me R."

**Author's Note:**

> first part in a series. I actually wrote this piece second (the first piece I wrote to be published later because Grantaire knows Les Amis in that one and he's just meeting his first one in this piece) and based off the words 'caged bird'.


End file.
